


I'll hang with this old feeling, treat it like another friend

by Princex_N



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Brainweird, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Paranoia, Schizotypal Ted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Most of the times with shows and stuff Ted does alright up on stage because there's the music or Bill to focus on instead, but now they're finished with the show stuff and all Ted wants to do is head back to the van and just be done with it all for the night.Instead they somehow wound up cornered in a crowded hallway by a woman with a microphone and camera crew who wants to do an interview and won't seem to take no for an answer.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	I'll hang with this old feeling, treat it like another friend

**Author's Note:**

> me typing this into AO3: am i sure about this? are people going to appreciate it? 
> 
> me smashing post: actually i don't care
> 
> lyric from [Bloodstains by 100 gecs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XGaqjTKe20)

Ted is starting to get nervous and he doesn't like it, and more than that he sure as hell doesn't know what to do about it. 

He knows his brain doesn't work right. He's known since he was fifteen or whenever else it started, and even if he hadn't known then he'd know for sure by now because people keep telling him about it all the time. Mostly his dad, but also teachers and acquaintances and managers and stage crew. Apparently it's real easy to see, so Ted's not sure why some people keep on acting like he doesn't know. 

He knows it's not normal, it's just that most of the time he doesn't really mind. Aside from the times it becomes really inconvenient, most of the time it just settles into its own kind of normal and so like, who really cares?

(Well, the answer is a lot of people sorta, but when they're not around it's not a big deal because it means there's no one around causing problems or insisting that it _is_ actually a big deal.) 

So, the problem isn't really that Ted's brain is weird, it's more that other people are around when it's weird. Which is why the big problem right now is that there are a lot of people around and Ted is having a tremendous amount of trouble figuring out how to get away from all of them. 

Most of the times with shows and stuff Ted does alright up on stage because there's the music or Bill to focus on instead, but now they're _finished_ with the show stuff and all Ted wants to do is head back to the van and just be done with it all for the night. 

Instead they somehow wound up cornered in a crowded hallway by a woman with a microphone and camera crew who wants to do an interview and won't seem to take no for an answer. 

None of them had wanted to do something egregious like pushing her out of the way so that they could leave, so Bill had given Ted a helpless sort of look and a shrug, clearly annoyed but also not really seeing a point in pressing the matter of leaving when they could just give her what she wanted so they could leave without causing a scene. Ted guesses he just can't see the harm in it. 

Ted can see the harm in it though. Ted can see a lot of harm in it, even though he _knows_ it's just his brain not working right, but he hadn't wanted to say it out loud when she had been right there to overhear. Sometimes he'll muster the confidence to pull Bill aside anyway, but cameras and microphones wig him out a little at the best of times, much less when they're being pushed into his face _most_ insistently. 

It's not like he knows what'll happen if he talks to her, his brain never actually goes that far to tell him, but he can't shake the feeling that something bad _will_ happen and so what else is he supposed to do but worry? 

It's not like he hates his brain, not really. He doesn't quite mind being how he is, even when it's kind of shitty and inconvenient. Mostly he just kind of wishes that other people gave him space for it sort of. So he could deal with the things that need dealing with without having to worry about how other people's eyes are tracking his every movement, achingly aware of how different he is. Ted's found places he fits just fine by now, but most of the time he always feels like an alien walking on tiptoes trying not to get caught out. _That_ he kind of hates. 

He can't really focus on the questions she's asking, and he doesn't really want to answer any of them in the first place so he just lets Bill take over that role. He wishes they could just avoid the whole thing and leave, but being stuck in place is starting to make Ted's skin itch. Maybe it'll help settle his stomach to get Bill to rehash everything he'd said later so that Ted can make sure it's all okay, or maybe it won't - Ted's playing this whole game by ear just like everyone else is with him. 

The princesses are keeping their distance from the invasion which is good, but also Ted almost wishes they were closer so that he'd have someone to hide behind a bit. (That _is_ one thing Ted misses about dating Elizabeth - being able to hold someone without having to worry about Rules and other people. But Ted just has to make do with his bangs and hope for the best.) Bill is right there, easily within reach, but Ted knows better than to even _think_ about that when there are people and cameras and interviewers and shit around. 

The discomfort is crawling like flies under Ted's skin, but there aren't any bugs under there he _knows_. (In his eyes, maggots wriggling their way out of his tear ducts, legs shuffling through his sinuses. Ted blinks the thought away and tries not to let his eyes water.) He feels sick, he wants to leave, wants to hide in the shadows of the van and lock the doors and get lost on the highway where no one will bother to follow them. He feels sick. 

"Is there anything you want the fans to know?" he finally hears the woman ask. 

_'Nothing,'_ Ted thinks deliriously. _'I don't want them to know anything about us at all.'_

Bill mulls it over for a moment, thinking through options before finally settling on "Be excellent to each other," - an old familiar call and return ever since that first excellent journey. 

(He misses that more than he cares to admit most days. The total abandon in being able to go wherever and not have to worry about anything really. The conversations and easy friendship they'd struck up with everyone they met that day. Ted thinks it might've been the last time he really got on with anyone new. A bunch of people all out of place together - he hasn't been able to find people like that since.)

(He wishes Billy were here, suddenly and fiercely, because _he_ was always totally willing to cause a scene to get out of anything he wanted. Ted's pretty sure he might be older than Billy now, but the old memories still feel like older brothers, and Ted wants that kind of safety now too more than anything.) 

Ted know he's supposed to speak up next, complete the phrase and cement the magic of them, but the words are all tangled up in the nausea in his throat. They're a final statement, a closing number, but Ted can't get speech to work with him once again. 

"Par-party-party-party on, dudes," he chokes out, tripping over the words like a mess and he can tell the woman is watching him and knowing that his brain is all kinds of busted and coming to all sorts of twisted conclusions instead of just _asking_ or something else polite. 

(Ted's brain doesn't work right and that's fine and alright and okay but also Ted has seen the movies to know that other brains like his don't seem to end up happy or very decent or kind. _Ted_ knows there's a difference, but strangers never seem to.) 

(Ted knows he gets lucky when people just think he's stupid or childish.) 

"The show was excellent, but most exhausting," Bill is saying, finally catching on to the white sparks of panic bursting under Ted's skin. "We'd better get going now." 

The woman looks like she might want to argue, but the princesses cut in now, blocking her attempts to keep talking or get closer while Bill starts tugging Ted back and finally away. Part of him wants to protest and stay and make sure the babes get free without any fuss but most of him is too grateful to just be _going_. 

"Sorry dude," Bill says. "Would have totally bailed earlier if I'd noticed." 

Because Bill knows. Because Bill is the only one who knows and truly gets it, brain weird like Ted's but just in a different way. Ted doesn't ever say it, but he's pretty sure that without Bill he'd be constantly alone by now and he's super grateful for the fact that he isn't. 

(It's not really like Ted doesn't like other people or something, they just don't seem to get along as friends for whatever reason. People like Ted alright but something about him always seems to keep people from getting too close, like they can just tell something's not right about him by looking. He's got his family, technically, but his dad made him nervous more often than not and Ted doesn't bother to call anymore - just like Deacon never bothered to call once he left for college. He's pretty sure his dad is only really disappointed by one of those things and Ted doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about all that really.) 

They finally make it out to the van unbothered, the princesses hot on their heels for all Ted had worried. They settle back into their usual post-concert routine, the girls heading to the front for the first shift of driving while Bill and Ted hide among the equipment and de-stress. Tonight, though, the stress is coiled tight around Ted's spine, choking him out and filling his limbs with the impulse to hit something _hard_ just to get that energy gone. 

"Ted, dude, come here," Bill says, more of an invitation than a demand, the sound of his voice cutting through the fog in Ted's head. He doesn't hesitate to channel all of that heinous energy into burrowing as close as he can against Bill's chest instead of anything else. It's easy to hide here, despite all the effort lots of other people went through to try and make it harder. 

"'m not feeling good, dude," Ted mumbles against Bill's sweaty shirt, as if it's not painfully obvious, as Bill's arms come up around his shoulders tightly. As if not _everyone_ can tell just by looking at him, like he doesn't somehow broadcast it to the world without knowing how. 

He hates feeling like this, really truly hates it even though Ted usually hates very little. It _sucks_ , like being a stranger in his own skin - he's never been able to get familiar with this part no matter how often it happens. He wishes he could get better at it, maybe wishes that it wasn't a problem in the first place, but something seems wrong about wanting it gone. Like the stray dog in the mall court that followed Ted around until he caved and spent his allowance to buy it a meal, something kind of pitiful that Ted has to take care of because no one else will. 

"Do you want the headphones?" Bill asks and Ted nods rapid fire, glad he didn't have to be the one to ask. He takes the headset and pushes the Walkman back into Bill's hands, somewhere between unable and unwilling to go through the effort of choosing a tape or a track for himself. He trusts Bill to do it for him. (If Ted is the one who takes care of this stray dog feeling, then Bill is the one who helps take care of _Ted_ when no one else will. The thought aches like an open wound in the holiest way possible.) 

It doesn't take long for the music to start playing at full volume, and Ted settles into it as comfortably as he's able to right now. Lets the music carve out the fever from his skull and leave it hollow for the instruments to echo off of. Leans into Bill's chest and the chill of Bill's hand on his forehead, letting the contact ground him in his skin as well as it can. Bill's hands have a kind of magic to them, like the wind and the rain, siphoning out all of the bad vibes crawling in Ted's muscles and leaving something almost calm behind instead. Ted wishes other people wouldn't constantly try to cut that magic out of them both. He tightens his grip on the fabric of Bill's shirt just to spite the thought, and Bill's arms tighten around him in response just like he's doing the same. 

Ted doesn't know what's wrong with his head - at this point he's pretty sure he never actually will. Just a nameless sort of malfunction he'll never be able to fix or get used to, only endure over and over. 

And Ted is most grateful, really truly, that Bill is around to make sure Ted doesn't have to do it all alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> ever think about how schizo-spectrum positivity seems like it just kind of stalled out at 'your diagnosis doesn't make you evil'? lmao that sucks.


End file.
